At last, Hélène, overcoming her agitation, said:
"Arthur, I cannot conceive of what is passing in your mind; you wish me to tell you how and why I have loved you. Ah!" said she, her eyes filled with tears, "it is very simple. Mon Dieu! When I was still a very little child, I heard my mother constantly speaking about you, of the solitary life your father made you live, without any of the amusements suited to your age, without any young friends, occupied almost all the time with serious study, and deprived of almost every joy and pleasure of youth. The first impressions of you were that you were very unhappy and much to be pitied, and I pitied you because, in knowing how much I possessed, I thought of all that you missed: I had young companions whom I loved; my mother, always tender and good, entered into all our childish pleasures. So that sometimes, without knowing wherefore, I felt ashamed of myself for being so happy while you were living a life that seemed to me so forlorn and isolated.
"I think that was the beginning of my dislike of playing with the other children, their games displeased me because I knew you to be deprived of companionship; in a word, Arthur, it is because you seemed to me so much to be pitied that I was so much interested in you. Later, when you started off on your first voyage, the dangers you encountered, and which I, no doubt, exaggerated, made me tremble for your life and redoubled my affection. That was the time Sophie told you of, when at the convent school I was childish enough to celebrate your birthday, and when every day I would pray to God for your safety. Still later, when your poor mother died, it seemed as though that fearful loss was to bind you to me all the nearer, for then I believed you were entirely alone, unhappy, and deprived of the only person you could confide in. It was then that we came to live here, to dwell with your father. My mother had often told me that, though excessively good to us, your father was cold and severe. In fact, he seemed to be so grave, so sad, and you were always so timid and so uneasy in his presence, so gloomy after the conversations you had with him every morning, that I pitied you more bitterly than ever, and my love for you increased as I thought of all the trials you had to suffer.
"However, as much as I dreaded your father I could not prevent myself from loving him; he suffered so much! And besides, in showing myself always attentive and thoughtful to him, I meant to prove my love to you.
"Finally, Arthur, when you had the misfortune of losing him, seeing you quite alone in the world, I fancied that from thenceforth my fate was allied to yours, that the destiny of my life had always been and should always be to love you, to make you happy, that henceforth my heart was to become your only refuge. You had never told me that you loved me, but I thought that you did, that it must be so, that such a thing was inevitable, seeing that my vocation was the consecration of my life to your service; so each day I confidently awaited an avowal on your part, and when, despairing of ever hearing that avowal, I exclaimed unintentionally, 'Ah, you will never love any one! You will never be happy!' it was because I had an involuntary presentiment that you would be unhappy all your life, if you would not love me,—love me who loved you so dearly, who believed myself necessary to your happiness! Since then you have declared to me that you love me. I have been happy,—happy beyond expression; but that has been no surprise to me.
"Yesterday my mother caused me the greatest pain by repeating to me all those frightful calumnies. Not seeing you all day, I believed that you were as much distressed as I, that you shared my grief in this matter. This is all I have to tell you, Arthur, this is how I came to love you, the way I love you now; but be merciful and cease to torment me thus, become what you have always been to me! Why are you so changed? I beseech you to tell me—what have I done?"
While Hélène was telling me all this with such naïve and truthful simplicity, I had never taken my eyes off her; instead of being touched by her tender recital, I had been watching her with all the cruel and wary suspicion of a hostile and prejudiced judge; however, when she raised her beautiful eyes, so gentle and moist under their long lashes, she looked into mine with such candid assurance and so much serenity, that I must have been blind indeed, not to have read in them the noblest and deepest love.
But, alas! when one is possessed by stubborn doubt, everything that tends to destroy that doubt irritates you beyond measure, and appears to be dictated by perfidy and falsehood; you persist all the more in your conviction, because you believe you would be tricked if you gave it up. The most undeniable truths become adroit lies, and the noblest and most sudden inspirations become so many snares deliberately set for you. It was thus with me, so I continued to play the unworthy part I had imposed on myself.
"That is all very perfectly and cleverly thought out," I replied. "The causes and effects follow each other in the most perfect and logical succession; the fable is very plausible, and a stupider man than I would believe the whole story."
"The fable! What fable?" said Hélène, who could not conceive my suspicions.